I don’t mind the rain. I don’t mind the storms that come out of nowhere, or the thunderstorms that rumble nor am I frightened by the lightening. I say we need them sometimes. I say the rain can be a good thing and sometimes, life builds up pressure, and sometimes the pressure is too much, and sooner or later, we all tend to explode, just like the sky.
I have talked about this for years too.
Or perhaps you might remember the story about my Old Man.
He was building a shed in the backyard. I can remember being young. I remember watching him and seeing how frustrated he was. I could see him trying so hard to build as much as he could before the rain came in.
The sky was threatening, and the cloud cover was dark. The Old man did what he could, but the heavens could only hold out for so long before the pressure built, and the summer heat needed something to come along and break the humidity.
I stood at the doorway, small as ever, and like a young witness to an unforgettable moment, I watched the sky let go and drop down like a deluge.
The Old Man looked up, disappointed, but not beaten. Or maybe he was. Or maybe he accepted something that was going on inside of him. Either way, The Old Man came inside and put on his bathing suit. He grabbed a bottle of the baby shampoo that I used to wash my hair, and then The Old Man ran back outside to shower in the rain.
I can still see this in my head. The Old Man lathered himself up with the shampoo. The 1970’s were coming to an end, and literally everything I thought about the world was so incredibly different.
The Old Man soaped himself up and let the rain wash him clean. This seemed as if he was making peace with something unwanted or unfortunate. Or maybe he was resigned to the fact that he had no control over far too many things.
I watched him, studying this, and even at my young age, perhaps standing in my little one piece blue pajamas (you know the kind, right?) with feet on them, I saw The Old Man make peace with the quarrels in his head.
I always wondered about his stress.
Was I the reason for this?
Did he regret me because having me, later in his life, did this mean he would have to work harder and longer?
I used to see my Father and wonder about the intensity of his expression. Sometimes, he would sit at the table, quiet after a long day’s work, eating the reheated dinner that Mom made for us. And yes, of course, we always saved the big piece of chicken for The Old Man.
The Old Man’s upper lip used to sweat when he enjoyed his meal, and he would eat everything on his plate. He ate the same as he worked, unforgivably hard, aggressive, and always on the go, and always with a new project underway.
I never asked my Father what he was thinking. Then again, my Old Man was quiet about his feelings. He seldom spoke about emotions. He never explained and he never complained. He was hard too, just like the work he did. In all fairness, he was limited with a tolerance and patience that was not as helpful when dealing with me, his youngest son.
This is not to say that my Father was not tender at times. No, this is more of an honest account of a man who worked hard, who owned a company, who worried about how he would make payroll for his workers, and worried about how would he would keep his family fed and clothed and housed.
The world was on his shoulders.
Yet, he would never say this or talk about the pressures of life. Rather than throttle back, The Old Man would take on another project to prove to himself that he is not getting old, or weak, and that he is capable. Despite the pressure of the world, he can still make his way through and tow the line of life and his family as well.
I am similar to my Father. Yet, I am nothing like him.
I am the same in some ways and different in others.
If I asked my Old Man about life, The Old man would probably tell me, “You’ll understand when you get older.”
And he was right.
I’m older now.
Sometimes you don’t know what the ride is like until you sit in the seat and pull the seatbelt across your chest.
I can relate to the need to outrun the upcoming storms. At the same time, I could use the relief of a good rainfall. I cold use a gray sky and a heavy rain that sort of hushes the masses.
I could use a day that settles the ashes of our aftermath and puts us to sleep, as if The Great Mother, Herself, Mother Earth were here to say, hush now, children. Don’t say a word.
Sometimes the heat and the pressure of life builds up. Sometimes the storm brews and the sky of life itself erupts and explodes. But still, I don’t mind the rain.
I say we need a good rainfall to settle the dust from our crazy little mix ups.
We need this to relieve the damages, and to wash away our sins against each other.
Sleep well, Pop,
The Written Addiction 